Signed, Sealed, and Finally Delivered
by Sandysha
Summary: 6th in the 'Riding the River' Series: A recovered mailbag from an 11-year-old stagecoach robbery provides much-needed answers to both Murdoch and Johnny. The story is also on the Lancer lovers website.


*I don't own them. I wish I did.

** A/R – Scott is 24 and Johnny is 19

*** Many thanks to Alice Marie, Susan, and Diana for help with the beta.

 **SIGNED, SEALED, AND FINALLY DELIVERED**

 **By SandySha**

 **Sixth story in the 'Riding the River' Series**

 **Visalia, California - April 1860**

Charlie Huston was a happy man. He had a beautiful wife, a son any man could be proud of, and a job he liked.

Charlie had been driving a stagecoach for the Butterfield Overland Stage Line for fifteen years. He made the run from Green River to Visalia and back three times a week. He, like his partner Hank Welling, called Green River home.

Charlie was on top of the coach tying down luggage when he felt something against his leg. He looked down and smiled. A tall rancher was handing over his saddlebags. At six foot five inches the rancher didn't need to throw them up. Standing on the boardwalk he was almost even with the top of the stagecoach.

Charlie saw a lot of people on a regular basis, and one of them was going to be riding with him today.

"Howdy, Mr. Lancer," Charlie called down.

"Good morning, Charlie," Murdoch replied. "Are we going to be on time today?"

"Yes, Sir," Charlie answered. "We're leaving Visalia in twenty minutes. I need to get home. We're celebrating a birthday, and I told Grace I'd be on time tonight."

Murdoch smiled and cocked his head, thinking.

"Walt's turning fourteen today," Charlie answered proudly the question he could see on Murdoch's face.

"Walt's fourteen, already?" Murdoch smiled. "I can't believe it. It just seems like…" Murdoch didn't finish the sentence. He looked down at the ground and took a deep breath.

Charlie jumped down from the top of the coach and looked at the ranchers downturned head.

"How old would your boy be now?" Charlie asked knowing what Murdoch was thinking.

Murdoch looked away. He didn't want Charlie to see the moisture in his eyes. He could feel his heart start to crack again, new fissures opening beside the existing breaks.

"Eight. John would be eight now," he said as he swallowed his emotions.

"Eight years old, imagine that," Charlie said. "Just seems like yesterday when…well, when he was born."

"Yes, just like yesterday," Murdoch's voice broke. "He's been gone a little over six years now."

"Is that why you're down this way?"

"No, not this time. I came to buy a bull. I haven't had any leads in almost a year on where my boy and his mother might be," Murdoch answered.

It wasn't a secret in the valley as to what had happened. Murdoch's wife of two years had run off in the middle of the night with his 17-month-old baby boy.

"Sorry to hear that, Mr. Lancer," Walt said and thought to change the subject he knew was hard on the rancher. "Mr. Lancer, you know Walt's finishing school this year. I was wondering if you needed any hands out at your place? He can ride and rope some, but he's a quick study. He'd learn fast."

Murdoch smiled, "I think we could use some help with the roundup. When he's done with school, send him out. We'll see what he's made of. If he's anything like his father, I think he'll turn into a top hand in no time."

The two men laughed. Charlie had known Murdoch since he settled in Green River.

Charlie was grinning now. "Thanks, Mr. Lancer. I'll tell him tonight. He's been on and on about riding out to talk to you. Says he wants to make his own way. He's a good boy."

The conversation between the two men was interrupted when Hank walked up with the mailbag. Murdoch watched him stow it in the boot of the coach and tie it in. It looked like it was bulging. Next came the sheriff with a small strongbox. He handed it to Hank, who placed it in the foot boot under the driver's seat.

"All aboard," Charlie called out. "We're leaving in five minutes. Got a schedule to keep."

The passengers started boarding the stage. Murdoch waited while an elderly lady and her son got in first. A man wearing a suit was next to board. Looking around, Murdoch didn't see anyone else.

Murdoch climbed into the coach and was thankful there were only the three other people. The woman and her son sat on one side, and he shared the seat on the other side with the man. Sighing, Murdoch stretched out his long legs.

Murdoch took his pocket watch from his vest pocket and looked at the time. As he felt the coach lurch forward, it was precisely 11:00. Smiling, he thought about Charlie and the birthday party he was going to when he got home.

..********

The stage was making good time, and Charlie was pleased that he would be in Green River a little ahead of schedule. He was excited about Walt's birthday and letting him know what Mr. Lancer said about a job.

It had been a quiet trip. Hank was on the seat beside him dozing. Charlie laughed as he made the coach swing a little to the left to wake his shotgun rider up.

Hank jumped and pushed his hat back on his head. He relaxed again when he saw the grin on Charlie's face.

"Making good time," Charlie said snapping the reins again. "We'll be home in no time."

"Good," Hank replied. "I could use some of Martha's stew right about now."

The two men had been partners on this run for more than eight years and were comfortable with each other. Hank's wife Martha and Charlie's wife, Grace, were good friends just like the two men.

When Charlie saw the tree down across the road, he pulled back hard on the reins trying to stop the six horses pulling the coach. Hank sat up straight, shotgun ready, expecting trouble.

"Put the gun down!" a voice called from the side of the road. "You put it down or we'll …

Hank looked at Charlie, before laying the shotgun in the foot boot of the coach.

"Down. Get down," the man called out as he moved towards the coach. The heavy-set man stepped to within ten feet of the coach when he ordered everyone out.

The young man traveling with the elderly lady was the first to step down. Turning he helped his mother down. Next, Murdoch stepped down followed by the man in the suit. All of them with their hands in the air.

Murdoch looked around to see another man, leading two horses, approach the coach. The man holding the horses had a scar that ran down his left cheek and into a dark beard.

"Get the strongbox," the first gunman said, pointing his gun at Charlie. When Charlie didn't move the man started waving his gun around. "I said get the strongbox. Don't make me have to kill you."

"I'll get it, mister," Charlie said as he turned toward the coach. "I gotta' tell you though; I don't think there's much in it."

"I got the mailbag," the bearded gunman called out from the rear of the coach.

Charlie climbed back up on the coach, reaching into the foot boot. He picked up the strongbox and tossed it over the side. It landed in the dirt at the gunman's feet, almost hitting him.

The gunman looked at Charlie shaking his head, "You shouldn't have done that."

A single shot rang out.

With a shocked look on his face, Charlie Huston grabbed his chest and toppled to the ground.

Murdoch took a step forward intending to help the wounded man when the gunman pointed his gun at the tall rancher.

"Don't," is all he said.

The tall rancher hesitated. Swallowing hard, he stepped back to his original place near the coach.

"Why'd you do that?" the gunman at the rear of the coach asked. "We said there wouldn't be any killing."

"Get what the passengers have so we can get out of here," the gunman growled. He looked at the strongbox at his feet. One shot took the lock off. Reaching down he pulled the box open.

Inside he found mostly papers and some cash, but not much.

Murdoch tried to see if Charlie was still alive as the gunman started taking wallets and other valuables from the passengers. Murdoch handed over a pocket watch, thankful the entire time it wasn't the watch his Da had given him.

As they started to leave, the bearded man reached down to Charlie's prone body and went through his pockets. He found a watch chain and lifted it into the air. A gold pocket watch was attached.

Smiling the man put Charlie's watch, along with the other valuables, inside the strongbox and closed the lid.

"Keep them covered while I get mounted," the gunman that shot Charlie said as he reached down and lifted the strongbox by the handle on the end of it. Once mounted, he put the strongbox in front of him.

A few seconds later the bearded gunman mounted his horse with the mailbag attached to the saddle horn. The two men rode away.

Murdoch and Hank ran to Charlie's side and gently rolled him over.

"Lay quiet, Charlie," Murdoch said as he took his jacket off and rolled it for a pillow to put under Charlie's head, "we'll get you to Doc Jenkins in town."

Charlie Huston looked up at Murdoch with tears in his eyes. "Won't do no good, Mr. Lancer," he coughed, as a trickle of blood came out of the corner of his mouth.

"Mr. Lancer, tell Grace I love her. Tell her I was thinking of her and Walt at the end," he coughed again. "You see to Walt, won't you? He's a good boy."

"I'll see to both of them, Charlie. Don't worry about your family. Both will have a home at Lancer. I promise you," Murdoch replied, putting pressure on Charlie's wound.

Charlie nodded and looked past Murdoch. A faint smile crossed his face, and he seemed at peace.

"Thank you," Charlie said. "Mr. Lancer, I know someday you'll find your boy…"

With that, Charlie closed his eyes and his head fell to the side.

Murdoch took his jacket from under Charlie's head and spread it over his old friend. Standing up, Murdoch looked to the heavens and prayed Charlie Huston was right. Someday he would find his boy.

..********

 **Lancer, April 1871**

It was the third week of April and spring was in full force in the San Joaquin Valley. In fact, it had come early this year. The warmer weather was a relief to everyone after a cold and miserable winter.

Scott and Johnny had been home a year. A lot had happened in that time, and in spite of it, or because of it the Lancers were now a family united. The pains and hardships of the last year seemed to melt away as spring signaled new beginnings for them all.

Murdoch had just stepped out of the barn when he saw a rider coming down the road. Covering his eyes against the glare of the sun, he smiled seeing it was Val. He raised a hand and waved as Val rode under the arch.

"Val, what brings you out here in the middle of the week?" Murdoch asked as Val stopped in front of him.

It seemed that Val was now at the ranch more than he was in town. He'd become a welcome part of the family, spending his free time with Johnny and every Sunday at Lancer for dinner.

Val even had the room next to Johnny's that he called his own when he was at the ranch.

"Got something for you, Murdoch," Val answered as he untied a bundle from the back of his saddle. Once he had the bundle in hand, he looked toward the house. "Let's go inside, and I'll tell you all about it."

Murdoch led the way into the Great Room.

Val laid the bundle on Murdoch's desk and looked toward the drink cart. Murdoch laughed, "Help yourself. You know you don't need to ask."

Val grinned and tossed his hat down on the table behind the sofa. Moving to the drink cart, he picked up a glass and poured himself a whiskey. He looked around and held the bottle up, silently asking Murdoch if he wanted one too.

"Not right now," Murdoch answered. "So, what have you got here?" Murdoch moved around and sat down at his desk.

"It's a pretty long story," Val said as he sipped his drink. Moving to the chair in front of the desk he was about to sit down when the front door opened. Scott and Johnny walked in.

"I told Scott it was you riding in," Johnny smiled, moving across the room, spurs jingling.

"So, you did," Scott laughed and followed his brother into the room.

"What are you doing here, Val?" Johnny walked over to Val and lifted the glass from his hand, taking a sip of the drink.

"Get your own, boy," Val growled, reaching for the glass.

"John!" Murdoch shook his head.

Johnny laughed, "Alright," he said, handing the glass back to Val before walking to the drink cart. "Scott, you want one?"

"Not right now," Scott answered as he eyed the bundle on Murdoch's desk. "Is this why you're here," Scott asked?

"It is," Val answered. "You two sit down, and I'll tell you about it."

Val picked up the bundle and started to open it as Johnny and Scott sat down. Murdoch took his chair behind the desk.

Val untied the bundle and then reached into a bag and brought out a small pouch, two white envelopes, and a wrapped package.

"Murdoch, you remember about 11 years ago there was a stage holdup outside Green River. The driver was killed, and they got away with the strongbox and mailbag?" Val asked as he set the items down on the desk in front of him.

Nodding, Murdoch answered, "I should." He leaned forward onto the desk. "I was on the stage. There were two men. They robbed the passengers, took the mailbag, and killed Charlie Huston."

Scott cocked his head. "Huston? As in Walt Huston? Our Walt?"

Murdoch nodded. He stood up and walked around the desk, deciding he needed that drink after all.

"That's right; Charlie was Walt's father. I promised Charlie as he was dying that I'd take care of his wife, Grace, and their son, Walt. I brought both of them to Lancer. Grace passed away five years ago from influenza. They lived in a small cabin near Cipriano's. I hired Walt on as a hand when he was fifteen after he finished school. He's been with me ever since."

Murdoch sat back down waiting to hear the rest of Val's story.

Val nodded. "Is Walt around anywhere close right now?"

"No, he's with the men on the south mesa moving the herd," Johnny answered. "Why?"

Val reached into the small pouch and pulled out a gold watch and chain. Holding the watch up, he showed it to Murdoch.

"Charlie's watch," Murdoch stated and leaned back into his chair. "I'd recognize it anywhere. How…?"

Val took a deep breath and another sip of his drink.

"Yesterday, a representative of the Butterfield Overland Stage Line came into the office. He had a mailbag with him and this small pouch. It seems that an old prospector found an abandoned cabin up in the hills above Merced. He was going to clean it up some and stay for a while. He was cleaning out the fireplace and found the strongbox and mailbag from the holdup. Both were stuffed into the chimney.

It looks like the fellows that robbed the stage decided to hide the loot and come back for it later. Guess they didn't make it back. Anyway, the prospector turned the bag and the strongbox over to the Sheriff over in Merced.

The sheriff in Merced contacted the stage line. They sorted through everything. Anything that was supposed to come to either Green River, Morro Coyo, or Spanish Wells was brought to me. You can imagine what folks in town thought when I delivered 11-year-old letters to them," Val laughed.

"The things that belonged to you and Charlie Huston I brought out here," Val pulled out Murdoch's wallet and pocket watch and handed it to him.

Murdoch took the watch and laughed, "You know the entire time the man was taking the watch I was thanking the heavens I'd left my Da's watch at home." He looked at Johnny, "That's the watch I gave you last year."

Johnny smiled as he pulled the watch from a pocket in his pants and looked at it.

Murdoch opened the wallet and inside was the bill of sale for the bull he bought in Visalia and the money he had left from the purchase.

"Got some mail for you, too," Val said as he handed over two envelopes and the wrapped package.

Murdoch looked at the envelopes and shook his head. Neither had been important. He picked up the wrapped package and looked at it. Frowning, he stared at the return address.

"What is it, Sir?" Scott asked leaning forward, trying to see the writing.

"It's from the Mission in Matamoros," Murdoch said with a puzzled look on his face.

Johnny got up and moved closer to the desk, standing next to Val.

Unwrapping the package, Murdoch inhaled and looked up at Johnny. With a shaking hand, he lifted the contents of the package and sat it squarely in front of him.

Johnny gasped, and his eyes widened. A sound almost as a sob escaped his throat.

Scott stood up and moved to his brother's side, "What is it? What's wrong?"

Johnny didn't say anything, he just shook his head and looked at Val.

"It's Maria's," Val said almost in a whisper. Rubbing his hand across his face, Val looked at the others, taking a deep breath and said louder, "It's Maria's. She kept it in the chest at the end of the bed. I never opened it; I don't know what's in it."

Everyone's eyes went to the object in front of Murdoch. A long wooden box with a hand carved lid sat before them.

Val turned to look at Johnny's pale face and watched as the boy staggered backward and collapsed into a chair. It was as if a ghost from his past had risen from the grave and was about to overtake him. He'd fought off enough of his ghosts in the last year; he didn't need another one.

Murdoch was on his feet and at his son's side in seconds.

"I haven't seen it since the night she died," Johnny looked into his father's eyes and shook his head. "She had it out on the bed along with some other things."

"What happened that night?" Murdoch asked placing a hand on Johnny's shoulder. Murdoch could feel a tremor run through his son.

Johnny looked at his father with a faraway look in his eyes. He saw that night again, and he didn't want to remember any of it. He shook his head violently and stood up ready to run from the room and the memory.

Val was on his feet and in front of Johnny before he knew what was happening. Val took Johnny's arms and held him in place.

"Listen to me, hijo," Val said softly. "I'm not letting you run from this anymore. You've spent the last 11 years running from a memory… from a ghost. It's time to face it."

Johnny looked up into Val's eyes. Val knew how hard this was for him. Val had listened to him reliving that night in his nightmares more than once over the years.

Johnny cocked his head, "Papi…, I can't…"

"Yes, you can," Val said as he looked around at Murdoch. The boy had two fathers; one by blood, and one by choice. He needed both of them at that moment.

Murdoch moved forward, "John, Val's right. You've run long enough. Sit down and tell us what happened. Maybe once it's out in the open, the ghosts will go away."

Johnny looked between Murdoch and Val and then at Scott. He took a deep breath and turned around. He made it to the chair and slowly sat down. Johnny closed his eyes and started speaking softly, so softly it was hard to hear.

Johnny was eight years old again, reliving his worst nightmare.

..********

The boy was small, too small for his age. The clothes he wore were nothing more than rags. The only thing that distinguished him from any other street child in the small Mexican village was his blue eyes.

Quietly opening the door to the two-room shack, Juanito held his breath.

The door squeaked.

The boy stopped, ready to run if need be. He wanted to make sure no one was inside before going any further. Listening, he was satisfied there was no one in the shack.

Stepping into the room, Juanito looked around. He was hungry. No, more than hungry he was starving. It had been two days since he'd last eaten. The hope of finding something to eat was the only reason he would set foot in the rundown building.

Seeing a pot on the stove, Juanito almost ran across the small room. Tears came to his eyes when he found the pot empty. Looking around the room, despair set in knowing he wouldn't find any food.

The door to the bedroom was open. Cautiously he stepped inside. He looked over his shoulder making sure no one was coming in the front door. Looking around the room, he could tell that things had been moved.

His mother's clothes, what few she had, were on the bed. Along with the clothes was the wooden box she carried with her whenever they moved. The 13-inch long box had an image of a rose hand carved into the top.

Juanito remembered a time, long ago, when there was silver inlay in the rose carving. He could still see his mother scrapping the silver away. She'd sold the silver for what money she could get.

It was the first time the boy had gone hungry because his mother used the money from the silver, to buy tequila instead of food, but it hadn't been the last. There were many nights he'd cried himself to sleep because of an empty stomach.

Juanito was forbidden to touch the box. The one time he'd tried, his mother had screamed at him and smacked him hard. Juanito wasn't stupid. Always learning from his mistakes, he never touched the box again.

Looking once more toward the door, Juanito reached for the box. He was about to pick it up when he heard raised voices.

His mother stormed into the shack followed by the gambler. They were both drunk.

Maria looked into the bedroom and saw him standing next to the bed. Her eyes went from the boy to the box. Juanito could see the fury ignite in her eyes.

The gambler's loud voice drew Maria's attention away from Juanito.

"Where's my money, woman?" the gambler screamed and grabbed Maria's arm, shaking her.

"I know of no money, mi amor," Maria tried to sooth the man's temper.

"Yes, you do," the gambler screamed. "I owe that money to a man. If I don't pay him, he's gonna' kill me. Now, where the hell's my money?"

"I don't know," Maria screamed back. She tried to turn away as the gambler grabbed her and started to violently shake her. He slapped her across the face, splitting her lip. Blood began to drip down her chin.

Juanito saw his chance to get out of the shack and away from the beating he knew was coming if he were caught. He'd had enough of those in his short life.

He was almost past the arguing couple when the gambler seemed to realize he was there. Releasing Maria, the man turned toward Juanito.

"Do you know where it is, mestizo," the gambler reached for the boy who ducked and spun away, out of the man's grasp.

"Leave the boy alone," Maria screamed and slapped the gambler.

The man turned his attention back to Maria.

The boy moved to a corner and squatted down. All he wanted was to become invisible. Making himself small, he pulled his legs to his chest and buried his head in his arms praying they would forget he was there.

Tears ran down his face. Memories of the man he called Papi came back to him. He so wanted Val to come and find him. He wanted to feel safe and loved again.

The screaming became louder.

Juanito looked up in time to see the gambler take his mother's head in his hands and twist it violently around. The sound of her neck snapping echoed off the walls.

Maria fell to the floor. Vacant, now lifeless eyes staring at the boy.

Juanito looked at his mother and scurried on his hands and knees across the floor. He was almost to her when the gambler picked him up by his shirt. Turning the scared boy to face him, the gambler backhanded him.

Juanito could taste the blood in his mouth and knew his nose was bleeding.

"Where's my money?" the man screamed as he hit Juanito over and over. The man's balled fist slammed into the boy's stomach.

Juanito fell to his knees, tears running down his face. Looking around he tried to find something to use to defend himself. Seeing the gambler's gun lying on the table, he started to drag himself toward it. Before he'd gone even two feet, the gambler picked him up and spun him around.

Juanito didn't see the knife or feel it when it was pushed into him. Looking down, he was puzzled when he saw blood running down his leg.

When he looked up, Juanito saw a grin on the man's face. He knew what was going to happen. As the man started toward him, the boy threw himself toward the table and the gun on it.

With a shaking hand, Juanito picked the gun up.

The gambler laughed.

Holding the gun with two hands now, there was no doubt in the young boy's mind as to what he was going to do.

One step is all it took. The gambler took one step forward when Juanito pulled the trigger for the first time. The first bullet went wild. The gambler stopped dead in his tracks, wide-eyed. The second bullet hit the gambler in his left arm, and he spun around as a third bullet hit him in his shoulder.

The boy kept pulling the trigger until the gun was empty. Dropping the gun on the floor, Juanito put his hand over the wound in his abdomen and staggered out of the shack into the night.

..********

Everyone sat frozen in place as Johnny told his story. Tears were now running down his cheeks.

"I thought he was dead. I ran out of the shack and … that's the last thing I remember until I woke up three days later at the Mission," Johnny said and looked around the room.

With Val on one side of him and Murdoch on the other, Johnny felt both men put an arm around him. He looked up to see his brother moving across the room.

Scott put a hand on his brother's shoulder and squeezed it tight.

Johnny took a deep breath and swallowed. He looked at the box on the desk and frowned. "So, who sent you the box and why?"

The other three men were now looking at the box and wondering the same thing.

..********

Murdoch walked across the Great Room and once again sat in his chair. He reached for Maria's box when a letter fell out of the wrapping paper.

Opening the letter, Murdoch looked at the date. "15 March 1860," he read aloud.

Johnny was on his feet now, "That's the month Mama died. March of 1860."

Murdoch nodded, clearing his throat he began reading the letter aloud:

 _15 March 1860_

 _Murdoch Lancer_

 _Rancho Lancer_

 _Morro Coyo, California_

 _Senor Lancer,_

 _My name is Padre Dominic. I am one of the Padres at Mission Matamoros._

 _We have a small boy here that we believe is your son. His name is Juanito. His mother died a few days ago and in her possession was the box I am sending to you. The box had a few trinkets in it as well as your name and address. There was also a photograph of the boy, his mother, and a man we believe to be you._

 _On the back of the photograph are the names Murdoch, Maria, and Johnny Lancer._

 _The boy was badly injured when his mother was killed. As I write this letter, it is not known if he will live or die. God willing, he will live._

 _Senor Lancer, I will do everything I can to keep Juanito with us until you come for him. I pray he lives and that he will be reunited with his Papa._

 _Please do not delay in contacting us or coming for your son._

 _Padre Dominic_

Murdoch sat the letter down and put his head in his hands.

"The Padre's at the Mission told me they kept Johnny there for six months, hoping someone would come for him," Val said to no one and everyone. "They didn't say anything about sending a letter to you."

Scott looked at his brother. He could tell Johnny was fighting his emotions. Scott walked over and put an arm around his brother's shoulders.

"What's in the box?" Johnny asked bringing everyone out of their thoughts.

Murdoch picked up the box and opened it. He dumped the contents onto his desk. Johnny, Scott, and Val crowded around.

Murdoch picked up each item and looked at it. First, there was a silver cross on a chain. He remembered Maria never took it off. Next, he picked up the photograph the Padre had mentioned in his letter. Looking at it, he smiled remembering the day it was taken. He held the picture out to Johnny.

Johnny looked at the woman in the picture and almost didn't recognize her. "She looks…happy," he said. "I never saw her like this."

Johnny handed the photograph to Val. Val held it and sighed, "She was beautiful, wasn't she? You're right; she wasn't happy like in this. I never saw her eyes smile like this."

Murdoch closed his eyes. It had been hard for him to hear how Val and Maria had lived together when Johnny was a child. At first, when he found out, he felt pangs of jealousy and hurt. That soon passed when he realized that Maria had never loved him or Val or Johnny.

The one thing Val and he had in common was their love of the dark-haired boy standing in front of him. He didn't begrudge Val his memories of Maria or Johnny as a boy. Val had been there for his son when he couldn't have been.

Murdoch picked up the few remaining items from the box. There were a few coins, a piece of imitation jewelry, a hair comb, and a few buttons. The only other thing was a piece of paper with Murdoch's name and the words Rancho Lancer, Morro Coyo, California.

Johnny looked at the items on the desk and shook his head. "Why would she get so angry at me for touching the box if that was all that was in it? I suppose she was afraid I would ask questions about the picture."

Johnny picked up the box and turned it over in his hand. There was a slight noise. He turned the box over and again heard the sound.

Everyone was watching him now. Johnny looked closely at the box. "There's a false bottom," he stated.

Johnny tapped the bottom of the box. It sounded hollow. He turned the box upside down and tapped it again. The false bottom of the box fell out onto the desk. What fell out next caused them all to freeze in amazement.

The four men watched as paper money floated down to the desktop.

Murdoch reached across and started picking the bills up. It was American currency. He counted out almost two thousand dollars.

Johnny sat down and shook his head. "Well, I guess we know what Mama did with the gambler's money," Johnny snorted. "That's what she died for, two thousand dollars."

..********

No one said anything for a long time. Finally, Murdoch spoke up, "What do you want to do with the money, son? By rights, it's yours."

Johnny's head shot up. "No," he shook his head, "I don't want it. I almost died because of that money and Mama did die. I don't even want to touch it."

Murdoch nodded, "I understand. Do you want to give it to the church in Green River or the Mission in Morro Coyo?"

"Yeah, … no," Johnny stopped himself. "What do you think about giving it to the orphanage in Morro Coyo. The orphanage will know what to do with it. They need it more than the church or the Mission."

"That's a good idea," Murdoch agreed. "We'll ride out there tomorrow, the three of us."

"Make that the four of us," Val spoke up with a smile.

Murdoch nodded, "The four of us."

..********

The sound of the work crews coming in made Val remember the other reason he was at Lancer. He stood up and picked up the gold watch belonging to Walt's father. Holding it in his hand, he looked at it and then at Murdoch.

Val held the watch out to Murdoch, "I think he'd like it better if it came from you. You were with his Daddy when he died. He's gonna' need someone to talk to, and I think it should be you."

Murdoch nodded his agreement and took the watch. He turned to the French doors and looked across the yard.

Walt Huston was getting off his horse and talking with the other men. Walt was now 25 years old. He'd come to Lancer when he was 14 and started working at 15. Walt had turned into a tall, strong man that Murdoch knew Charlie would have been proud of.

Murdoch opened the French doors and walked outside.

..********

That night after everyone had gone to bed, Murdoch sat alone in front of the fire in the Great Room.

The two men that robbed the stagecoach and killed Charlie Huston were never captured. They were never to know the consequences of their actions, or how many lives and futures were changed when they robbed the stage.

Val said that the Mission in Matamoros had kept Johnny for six months. When the Padres turned an eight-year-old boy over to the orphanage, there was no way for them to know that their letter and Maria's box had never made it to its final destination.

Murdoch put his head in his hands. Eleven years ago, he'd been sitting on a stagecoach that carried a letter telling him where to find his son.

Fate had worked against them all over the years. Walt had lost his father because of those men and Johnny had been snatched away from his grasp once again. Worse, the holdup had ultimately resulted in the birth of Johnny Madrid.

"Murdoch?" a voice caused the rancher to jump and look around.

Murdoch smiled when he saw his youngest son, "John, I thought you were in bed."

Johnny huffed, "Can't sleep. Val's snoring is shaking the rafters up there."

Murdoch stood up from his chair and moved to the sofa. He patted the seat beside him, "Come sit down, son."

Johnny slowly walked across the room.

"Aren't you cold?" Murdoch asked seeing his son wearing only his pants; his bare chest and feet exposed to the cool air.

Johnny shook his head, "Naw. Not yet anyway."

Johnny sat next to his father and took a deep breath. The scent of pipe tobacco brought back a memory long buried. He was small and sitting in a man's lap. The man had his arms wrapped around him and was telling him a story.

"It's been quite a day, hasn't it?" Murdoch spoke up as he watched his son's face.

Johnny nodded, "Yeah."

They sat quietly for a few minutes before Murdoch felt the weight on his shoulder of his son leaning into him. He raised an arm and put it around Johnny's bare shoulders.

"Guess I'm colder than I thought," Johnny smiled as he moved closer to his father and snuggled into the embrace.

"You know I used to sit right here and hold you against my chest when you were a baby."

"And tell me stories?"

Murdoch looked down at his son's face, "You remember?"

Johnny shook his head, "I don't know if it's a real memory or not. I remember the smell of pipe tobacco and someone big holding me. I remember a voice telling me stories. Whenever I've had that flash of memory, I felt like I was safe… and loved."

"That you were, son. You were and are loved," Murdoch replied with a sigh.

"Murdoch, if that box and letter had made it to you 11 years ago…," Johnny's voice trailed off.

"I would have come for you. Never doubt that. Nothing on God's green earth would have kept me from you," Murdoch answered.

Johnny nodded. He knew his father was telling him the truth. Even if the letter were 11 years late in coming, Johnny knew that the man that was holding him now would have been there if he could.

Johnny felt himself dozing off as the arm around him tightened.

Murdoch looked at the fire again and sighed.

"Come on. Let's get to bed," Murdoch said knowing he needed to get his son to bed but not wanting to break the spell of the moment.

Johnny nodded and reluctantly pulled away from the arm around him.

Johnny started toward the stairs as Murdoch moved to the fireplace.

Murdoch closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Looking at his son starting up the stairs, he hesitated only a moment more before adding one more piece of wood to the dying fire.

..********

"Murdoch, what are you going to do with the box?" Johnny asked as father and son made their way up the stairs.

"What do you want to do with it?" Murdoch paused and a moment of panic set in. "Do you want it?"

Johnny stopped on the stairs and looked into his father's eyes. Slowly he shook his head, "I don't want it. I don't ever want to see it again. Burn it. Burn it until there's nothing left but ashes."

Murdoch nodded. The sound of wood catching and popping caused him to look over his shoulder. The Great Room was dark now except the light from the fire. Smiling, he put an arm around his son and guided him the rest of the way up the stairs.

In the large fireplace, lingering flames were working their way across the last pieces of wood that fueled them. The flames shot briefly higher as the faint image of a rose was gradually being devoured.

End

January 2019


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